bright eyes
by oswalds
Summary: if people were rain he was drizzle and she was a hurricane -karkat/jade


**a/n:** this took forever to finish, but i actually like it. —human/college/coffee shop au, stylistic decapitalization

**. ****. ****.**

**bright eyes  
**karkat&jade**  
**

**.**

_and i wanna remember this night, and how my words never came out right  
__it's just my patience that keeps me alive, just like all those pretty lights in the sky_

— **all those pretty lights;** andrew belle

**.**

he always catches himself looking at her during the strangely long winter afternoons when the small coffee shop isn't filled with customers (it rarely is).

she arrives every day at the same time; the heels of her ankle-high boots click-clicking on the wooden floor and her nail polish-stained black purse hanging from her shoulder; and she sits alone at table seven, near the window, for hours with a mug of hot chocolate and a novel — a new one every other day (_pride and prejudice _and _an abundance of katherines_ are recurring favorites, he's noticed).

she isn't exactly hot, not like how one might imagine, not in the whole dianna agron type hot; but there's something about her that he likes. she is his type of pretty — the perfect mix of long ebony black locks and large, bright green eyes behind oversized glasses.

to say that he wants to talk to her would be to underestimate the matter dramatically, but whenever he tries, his brain shuts down, and they end up exchanging the same four words—

("the usual?"

"yeah, thanks.")

**.**

his eyes somehow always end up darting back to her. she is too fascinating and pretty and _addictive_.

(like a splash of color in a black and white world, if he were to be poetic—which he won't)

he hates that he notices her little habits—the ones nobody ever cares about—because he's not a stalker (no matter what sollux and dave say, and they say it abundantly). still, he doesn't exactly try _not_ to notice.

— that she gets so absorbed in the book she's reading that her drink gets cold, but she doesn't mind; and that she twirls a strand of hair around her index finger when she's lost in thought; and that she always wears something green; and that sometimes she just sits with her elbows propped on the table with her chin resting in her palms, legs crossed, looking through the window.

but the one thing he never notices is the occasional glance she shoots his way — because that's when he looks away.

**.**

(she is too perfect, and he is too flawed, and he knows it, and she probably knows it too, so he keeps his distance)

**.**

he studies her carefully before walking over with her hot chocolate. she's reading a paperback of john green's _looking for alaska _(for the third time), and doesn't seem to notice him when he sets the white mug down on the table, so he says—

"do you like the book?"

his heart is beating faster than a techno drumbeat, threatening to jump out of his rib cage, as he waits for her response. she looks up at him, and _holy shit her eyes are so pretty_. "yeah," she says, "—i do."

"it's a great book."

"it is."

and with that, he leaves (he is too big of a coward to stay for long).

**.**

she places two dollars for the hot chocolate on the counter, and catches him by surprise with a question — _you're karkat vantas, right?_ — and he stammers out an affirmative response.

"how do you know that?"

"oh, i have my sources," she says with one of those mischievous smiles that seem to say _i know something you don't know _and could definitely land her a role on _pretty little liars_.

she turns on her heel, and is already halfway out the door when he calls after her, his voice louder than it needs to be, as is often the case— "wait, what's your name?"

"jade harley," she says, and leaves.

"jade," he quietly rolls the name on his tongue, and the corners of his lips lift into a smile because it's so simple and sweet and _her_. "—fitting."

**.**

there is no point in denying it — he is abso_fucking_lutely smitten by her.

it isn't love, not exactly. it probably isn't. (or maybe it is. he isn't sure, he's never been in love before.) but it's still a feeling.

**.**

she thinks about him sometimes.

— when she starts reading a new book; or when she's watching _breakfast at tiffany's_ and _grease_ for the who-knows-which time (she stopped counting after the nineteenth); or when she sings along to a song she likes; or when she's studying for an exam; or when it's snowing and she wants some hot chocolate but can't make it herself because she's an awful cook and his is so much better anyway.

she often notices him staring — because stealth isn't his forté, and she isn't as oblivious as he might think — but when she looks over at him, he panics and focuses on anything other than her, and she goes back to her book.

**.**

the snow is quickly covering the deserted streets of the college town, and he considers locking up early when she walks in. her black hair is falling over her left shoulder in a side braid, snowflakes decorating it like glitter; and her cheeks are bright red from the cold.

"oh gosh, it's freezing outside!" she cries.

"no fucking kidding," he replies. "the hot chocolate will be ready in a second. it's on me."

"oh, thanks, karkat. that's so sweet of you."

he brings her the hot chocolate, and takes a seat opposite her—uninvited, but she doesn't say anything. they talk about books and exams and romantic comedies, and she somehow manages to quote _breakfast at tiffany's_ several times without turning the conversation into a huge mess. he decides that he is definitely in love with this girl.

when she finishes her drink, the snow is still falling, so he offers to walk her home, even though getting snowed in with a cute girl in a warm coffee shop doesn't sound like a bad idea, when he thinks about it.

during the walk to her apartment, she slips on a patch of ice, and he grabs her arm in an attempt to keep her on her feet, which ends with both of them falling down gracelessly. it hurts like hell, and he's pretty sure his wrist is sprained, but she starts to laugh, and he suddenly doesn't feel the need to shout an array of profanities for five minutes.

when they reach an old brownstone, she invites him in (_it's snowing pretty hard and my roommate's at her boyfriend's so you can stay if you want_), and he wants to accept her offer, but doesn't.

she looks so perfect under the pale streetlight, and suddenly the part of his brain in charge of rational thinking shuts down, and he leans in to kiss her; but he is still a coward so he does what cowards do—he walks away.

**.**

the snow doesn't cease its falling for three days.

he spends that time sitting on the old leather couch, reading _an abundance of katherines _— because he remembers jade saying it's her favorite book — and _the fault in our stars_ — because it's his favorite — over and over; and watching sollux, his roommate, and aradia, sollux's girlfriend-but-not-really who is actually a pretty sweet girl in spite of her rather morbid interests, play videogames.

but really, he can't stop thinking about _her_ (she's like a drug). he wonders if he ever crosses her mind—even if only for a moment—and hopes it's true.

(maybe he should've stayed with her)

**.**

when most of the snow melts, they fall back into the same old routine: she walks into the coffee shop at the same time as usual, like clockwork; he brings her a cup of hot chocolate (with a few extra marshmallows, but he's sure she doesn't notice); she thanks him and starts reading a new book — _the statistical probability of love at first sight_ by jennifer e. smith, which she's obviously read before because the corners are dog-eared (he doesn't mention that he has the same edition in a similar, maybe worse, state) — and he takes a seat behind the counter and follows her example.

he keeps stealing glances at her—but fails to notice when she does the same.

a few hours later, she leans over the counter and pays for her drink, but doesn't leave. "thanks for walking me home the other day," she says.

"anytime."

she smiles, and kisses him.

he watches her turn on her heel, wave, and walk out the door. a smile spreads across his face; and he thinks that if people were rain, he was drizzle and she was a hurricane.


End file.
